Haunted
by Catristocracy
Summary: Wilson is trying to figure out the current state of his mind with the help of others.


**Author's Note: Still trying to improve on my grammar. I think I made some progress, but it's still far from perfection. Sorry for the inconvenience.**

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**Haunted**

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"Mister Wilson, I heard something. It's tangled in it's own flesh. It smells bad and it's hardly fresh."

"Go to sleep little miss willow Willow. I'll keep the fire up, rest your head on the pillow."

"I'd like to do that." She paused, seeing as he did not said a world. She paused, because she knew what lingered in his soul. "What if they'll take you away, Mister Wilson? Away with the shadows that doomed those before? Cast again into shadows, again, nevermore?"

"They won't little miss Willow, don't you worry. Yesterday was simply another story."

"They took Rascal and Rubin that day. They ate them. Snapped their necks and they were in pain. I saw their eyes. And shadows... I saw shadows coming to life Mister Wilson. Treachery, villainy, without any reason."

"Hush, child, hush. And you shouldn't name your food. Even fluffy little pillows that cuddle to you. There's nothing in there. Just animals. Vile, savage beasts. We cannot go insane, not you and me. Here, put those in your ears and slumber, on three."

As the shades grew thicker, as the light was going out, the howling, the screeching came after each sound. The breath of a child was not near enough, to keep them at bay for the night that dark. Mister Wilson knew however better than that, then to fear of dreams that came from little brat. He grabbed his hatched, the one that slew the trees and began his journey into the abyss. He stood up, hearing and heard he did much. Something out there, the eyes could not touch. And as he began to search in the darkness their thick little forms of vile and meaty green vastly meadows, he pondered greatly, with his thick little mind and with his small brain, he began to shout.

"Show yourself you demonic trickster, fiend of the lost. Show yourself, I won't be a vessel nor I will be your host!"

Nothing respond as nothing there was, just an evergrow casting a familiar past. But the evergrow wasn't there too anymore, just a shade of a pint that bloomed there before.

"Show thy self I tell you! I am the man of prosperity! Show yourself, I shall show no pity!"

He shouted again and began swing his hatched. Again and again, he snipped and snatched. But nothing was hit, as nothing was there. And nothing there will be, for Mister Wilson to tell.

"Scoundrel, face me if you lurking in the shadows, despair!"

As the hand from the shadows emerged for the fire, he swopped the ground in attempt not so dire. The hand was cut yet it still lingered there, a shadow of the past, a shade of despair.

"What are you... No, you're not real! Things like you are never real to fear! And I'm not crazy, I'm just sane, so get out, get out in vain!"

Something else came, as somethings do. Not large, not small, what was it to you? To you Mister Wilson, with his tangled beard, facing a monster right out of your dream?

"You stay away from here, creature made of shades, you stay away from her, shade that never shows it's face!"

He tossed the pine right in the glow, burning and twitching forevermore. When from the fiery abyss he finally grab it, steady and steady, insane sword? For him? Simply normal habit.

"Burning sword I held, burning sword, you better yield!"

Like an angel of death, or an angel of light, swopping the darkness for what it's right. The man of science, with blade made of sparks, the man of science who was never right.

"Puppets in the crimson forest, come forth, to face the Wilson's wrath! Come forth, in boiling blood we shall bath!"

The tickling little beast came down to his feet, the tickling little beast grew larger and thick. The tickling little beast was no little no more. But he swooped it down, with the strength he encored.

"The fire, no, there was a truce, you never go out, what's there to deduce?!"

The monsters were close, the monsters were near, that was all he could briefly now hear. But as they enclosed and just passed by, there was another, not far from the sky.

"Mister Wilson, you have a sword. But sword is no weapon for demonic horde."

She whisper calmly. Yet there was fire beyond his imaging, had not made him firmly. Calm, was the least thing he would call her seeing, as fire itself responded with solitary being.

"Mister Wilson, wake up, wake up, I don't want you to slay that pup! Wake up, wake up, clock tickles like before, clock tickles, don't let me say again the word nevermore!"

He put down the sword made of the sparks and twitched with both of his brights. There was nothing to see and nothing to fear. But there was still something lurking in here.

"Mister Wilson, wake up, wake up, I dare you, wake up, or I'll do more than just scare you!"

Little hands shook his body and gave him a hit. Wonder how much he can take of this beat. Little hands gave him a scratch in the chin. Little hands that burn him within.

"Mister Wilson, what happened that night, that day, was there something fierce on your way?"

"Little miss Willow in fiery hat. I do not know, I will give you that. If I knew, I'd told you, oh I would wish to do that. The shadows. Were vile just like a rat, that is fat."

And as he sat there, next to little miss Willow, the fire the blaze and sprouted it's sparks. He knew that, for he was smart, the scientist that barks. As the day came forth, that frightful night. As the day usually begins with somethings that are bright. As the day emerged from nothing at all. Nothing but fire, once again showing what's behind the wall.

"Little miss Willow. We should go for the stars."

"Mister Wilson, are they made out of bars?"

"Why would you say that little miss Willow?"

"The fire, Mister Wilson, is my only vow."

"Little miss Willow, did we went insane."

"No, Mister Wilson, we're our own bane."

"Shadow, little miss Willow is the bane of each and every mind."

"So you say, Mister Wilson, you act like a mad running hind."

"Hush, little miss Willow, we need to move out."

"Well Mister Wilson, it's you and you who'll make the shout"

Thus passed the day and many to come. Thus passed the night, so frightful to some. As Mister Wilson pounded with his fiery brat, little miss Willow followed him at that. As the ember of child grew stronger in night, there was still much of darkness right ought to be fright. Was little miss Willow yet another loss sore? Well that, Mister Wilson, that's nevermore. As I like this tale and I like you as well, we should met one day, my name is Maxwell.


End file.
